


Derniere Danse

by jenfurlee (orphan_account)



Series: Folie à Trois [5]
Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-13 20:36:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13578480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/jenfurlee
Summary: Oh my sweet torment,No point in fighting, you start againI'm but a meaningless beingWithout him I'm a bit troubledI wander around alone on the subwayA last danceTo forget my great miseryI want to get away, everything to start again,





	Derniere Danse

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song, 'Derniere Danse' by Indila.

“You smell like booze.” Franky had muttered from behind the wheel as Bridget stumbled into the passenger seat. The small blonde reeked of alcohol. In all of their time together, Franky couldn’t remember a single time she had ever seen the woman drunk. Tipsy and flirty, yes, but she would never allow her to surpass that line into something passed her control.  
  
“You smell like sex.” Bridget fired back as she struggled to buckle her seatbelt. Franky almost didn’t believe the words that her girlfriend had spoken they were so out of character. Unable to respond, she started the engine and began the drive home with a tightness in the middle of her chest. Franky couldn’t refute the blonde’s statement because she knew it to be true. When Bridget called, her phone was trapped in the pocket of her jeans that lay in a heap on top of Erica’s plush bedroom rug. She had no room to talk, so she didn’t The drive home was absolutely silent.  
  
Bridget knew. How could she not? Franky hadn’t even been trying to keep her exploits that secret if she was truly honest with herself. Had she wanted to get caught? Poor, little, unloved Franky Doyle self-sabotaging the only good in her life yet again. It was all she knew how to do well: Self-destruct.  
  
When they finally arrived in the driveway, Bridget had managed to doze off against the window.  
  
“We’re home.” Franky’s voice stirred her from her slumber. Bridget couldn’t help but scoff at her words.  
  
“Home.” She repeated before gathering herself and opening the car door. She stumbled on her heels, gripping the door until she was white knuckled. Her heavy limbs were making it difficult to flee.  
  
“Here,” Franky appeared beside her, wrapping an arm around her waist to steady her form.  
  
“Don’t touch me, I’m fine!” Bridget yelled out trying to push the other woman away. She felt the tears beginning to sting her eyes instantly. Nothing about Bridget Westfall was fine.  
  
Franky’s hands flew away from her waist instantly, she held them up with her palms out. Instinct would never really leave her.  
  
Somehow, Bridget was able to gather the balance to make her way towards the front door unaided. Franky unlocked the front door and held it open for her to pass by. Bridget finally managed to kick off her heels, and then walk towards the kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine.  
  
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Franky asked tentatively as she watched the shorter woman struggle to remove the cork from the already half empty bottle.  
  
“Shut the hell up,” Bridget said before abandoning the bottle of wine on the kitchen island, her watery eyes now on the emerald green she had been trying to forget all evening. “I tried fucking someone else tonight, God damn it, Franky!” She snapped.  
  
“You what?” she whispered in shock. Deep down, she knew she had no right to be upset, but it still didn’t do anything to stop the dull ache in her heart.  
  
“And that’s not me!” Bridget burst into tears, finally allowing herself to succumb to the torment she felt. “I don’t do one night stands. I don’t do fucking. Fuck!” She yelled. “But you know what? I couldn't. I fucking chickened out.” Unable to control her rage any longer, Bridget’s small hands gripped the vase of flowers placed at the center of the island, and hurled it against the wall. The sound of shattering glass mixed with Bridget’s screams of frustration.  
  
Suddenly silence washed over the room, the only sounds were Bridget and Franky’s panting breaths as they tried to recover.  
  
“I’m taking a shower,” the blonde announced, making her way down the hallway, leaving the chaos behind her. 

“Gidge…” Franky followed, trying to console the woman with the use of the adorable little pet name. Bridget began shaking her head back and forth. No, she told her wordlessly. “Gidget, please.” She tried again, her voice cracking with desperation.  
  
“It’s fucking Bridget,” she snapped ferally, slamming the door in Franky’s face.  
  
“I swear to God, it’s done.” Franky swore from the other side of the door. She could hear Bridget’s scoff. Against all instincts, she entered the bathroom.  
  
“Leave me alone.” Bridget demanded with cold and tired eyes. She had managed to rid herself of every stitch of clothing. Her already thin form looked...emaciated.  
  
“Look” Franky’s fingers began going through her phone deleting Erica’s contact information. “It’s done.” Bridget only rolled her eyes at the gesture.  
  
“You can’t seriously think that that’ll suddenly make everything okay?” She moved to turn on the water.  
  
“Then tell me what to do!” Franky begged desperately. “Please!”  
  
“Leave me the fuck alone, Francesca.” The blonde’s monotone voice spoke out.  
  
“What?” she squeaked out.  
  
“Leave. Me. Alone.”  
  
“What did you call me?” Bridget had never called her by her birth name. Even before she had introduced herself in the halls of Wentworth, she had known that her name was Franky. She knew.  
  
“You know bloody well what I said.” The psychologist knew what she had done.

And just like that, she snapped. 

Franky’s palm slammed roughly against the shower tile directly beside Bridget’s head. The petite woman flinched instinctively covering her face.  
  
“Go on, hit me then.” She dared. Franky’s blood curdling scream pierced her ears, cutting through the air like a knife. Bridget pushed her back as she retreated further into the safety of the water. She now had tears rolling down her cheeks. “Please,” She whispered. Franky, finally relented. “I just need a little time to myself right now.”  
  
“Fine.” Franky nodded once.  
  
“I…” Bridget whispered, unable to finish with the following two words that normally came. Franky quickly swiped her fingers over her face, attempting to erase the trail of tears leading down her cheeks.  
  
Her ears were ringing as she retreated towards the bedroom. She knew she was too far gone to keep the memories at bay any longer. She instead grabbed her pillow and made her way towards the sofa in the living room.  
  
‘You don’t deserve a fucking bed, Francesca.’ The words came back to her as she pictured the day she returned home from school, only to find her bed gone without a trace from her room. She remembered the amusement in those lifeless eyes. How was it something from so long again, could feel as if it had taken place only hours before? ‘Nowhere to hide from me anymore,’ the woman had laughed proudly. Child Protective Services had found her curled on the floor on top of the makeshift mattress of towels only three days later.


End file.
